“She’s my wife and she gives better head than anyone. I don’t need no housewife head when I got THAT,” he grinned. “Hey Gina! C’mere,” h... hollered at his wife. “Wait till you see the lips on my bitch,” he loudly boasted. “For $50 she’ll rock YOUR world in the bathroom if you’re interested?” He said to me slightly more quietly, grinning from ear to ear.“What, Vinnie? I’m nearly done here!” Gina complained but came over anyway.“Slut wants to trade a bj for a shirt but I offered one for her man. To catch a thief and all that.”I had realized for some weeks now that my little detective gig was amateurish. At least compared with what Matt and Constance Grayson were doing. My original Wexler-plan — hang out at compounds where he’d visited, pick up intel, nail him — was too rudimentary. Too direct, too dumb. Too dangerous.I was still learning from Matt, although I had to admit that much of my education was still terra nullius to me.He had shown me what real disguises look like; how to. More

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